


Your Life, Forever (1/1)

by sevendeadlyfun



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendeadlyfun/pseuds/sevendeadlyfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Everyone he loses is torn from him, ripped out of his arms and taken somewhere he can't follow.</em> Captain Jack Harkness, alone in a bar, and how he stops running.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Life, Forever (1/1)

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[captain jack](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/captain%20jack), [the doctor](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/the%20doctor), [torchwood](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/torchwood)  
  
  
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Characters: Jack, The Doctor

Rating: R

Summary: _Everyone he loses is torn from him, ripped out of his arms and taken somewhere he can't follow._ Captain Jack Harkness, alone in a bar, and how he stops running.

A/N: Spoilers for Torchwood: _Children of Earth_ and Doctor Who: _The End of Time_. Inspired by a rewatch of the first (oh whatever!) season and Jack's experience as a companion. Con/crit welcomed, as this is not my usual fandom. Thanks so much to my beta [](http://anxiety-junkie.livejournal.com/profile)[**anxiety_junkie**](http://anxiety-junkie.livejournal.com/) for her usual abfab work in translating my scribbles into something readable.

He can't do it anymore. It takes all his energy to keep going. He's running far and running fast, ignoring everything. All the cries for help, the little signs that he could have someone for a night or forever…he just can't do it, can't care.  
Life is killing him.

Jack Harkness, Intergalactic Immortal, is tired of life.

He remembers the first time he died. Remembers every damn minute of that first time. It hurt. It still hurts but nothing like the first time. He snorts into his drink. Truer words, he thinks, and tosses down the battery acid that passes for alcohol in this corner of the galaxy.

It's the moments before that first death that are haunting him. He can still feel the warmth of their lips, the last of so many embraces. It was never like that afterwards. He was different. Wrong. Impossible.

He signals for another, feels the weight of the liquid as it fills his raised glass. Doesn't look up. Doesn't care who's doing the pouring as long as it keeps coming.

It's the trail of dead bodies behind him that keeps him running. Steven's just the latest, and by now Jack can't even say he's the most tragic. How do you weigh this much loss? Suzie, damaged beautiful Suzie, so desperate to stay alive without every really being willing to live. Owen, so soft under all those layers of hate and bitterness, walking around inside his own dead body and begging Jack to let him go. Jack still can't figure out how to let go. Everyone he loses is torn from him, ripped out of his arms and taken somewhere he can't follow.

Tosh, his brave girl; Gray, frozen forever and beyond his reach, as good as dead; Ianto – he raises his glass again because his litany of the dead weighs on him and he needs more, needs numb, needs to get through. There are more, many more, always more.

He keeps seeing them, lying in his arms or sprawled out in front of him, cold and still and so far away, untouchable. He dreams of them, catching them on the edges of his vision. Shade and shadows in the corners, they haunt him.

As he fights through his haze of grief and drink, he can feel his last moments. The sweet warmth of the Doctor's lips, the gentle pressure of Rose wrapped around him; all the exquisite details of his first death replaying again and again, a bizarre ritual of comfort.

He was a different man then. Before Torchwood, before the endless compromises that come with saving the world, with loving his team. Much easier when he had the Doctor to keep him honest. Keep him pure.

But if he was another man then, so was the Doctor. He loves them both but he knows the difference. The Doctor who forged him, who drove him not just to do better but _be_ better is not the same Doctor who leads him in battle now. Still, he finds himself aching for the surety of the Doctor.

_Tell me what to do, Doctor,_ he pleads silently.

He can't bring himself to ask for what he really needs, even in his own head. It's not shame that holds him back. He's held and been held, wept and comforted, begged and tormented in turn. But he can't bear another rejection. Can't bear to look into that beloved face and find no welcome.

Jack drains his glass and before he can signal for another, a slip of paper catches his eye. And just like that, he's there. The Doctor, his face full of something Jack can't quite name. Compassion? Tenderness? Welcome?

_His name is Alonso_ the note reads. And Jack can feel the mire of grief begin to slide away, the load lightening. As the haze of self-pity and self-loathing clears, he finally sees the Doctor, really sees him. His eyes are regretful, and Jack remembers that nobody understands loss like the Doctor.

He salutes him, the last sign of his love and respect he can still freely offer. He'd called and the Doctor came, giving him direction. Purpose. He's not free, and he thinks he never will be. But he can give himself permission to live, to look over at the lovely young man sitting next to him and start again.

"So, Alonso," he says, voice rusty from disuse, "going my way?"  


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**Your Life, Forever (1/1)**   
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End file.
